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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27822466">Roadside, Duscur</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranonic/pseuds/cyranonic'>cyranonic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Canon, Rebuilding Duscur, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:34:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27822466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranonic/pseuds/cyranonic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dedue and Dimitri walk the roads of Duscur again. Regrowth requires great patience.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roadside, Duscur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1180 </em>
</p><p>“Is it difficult?” Dimitri finds himself asking. </p><p>They are climbing down a narrow path, returning to where they left their horses. The professor is at the front, wrapped up in conversation with Ingrid who is concerned about the rebel troops that fled off into the craggy mountains. </p><p>“Being here?” Dimitri adds. </p><p>He is at the back of the column of soldiers. There is blood on his shirt from one of the rebels. From his nose, Dimitri reminds himself, he had struck him a blow with the blunt end of the lance. Not a fatal wound. His hand keeps wandering to his sleeve anyways to trace the splatter. </p><p>“I am the one who asked to come here, Your Highness,” Dedue reminds him. That does not entirely answer the question. </p><p>Their feet slide a bit on the gravel as the path grows steep. Duscur is a mountainous country. Dimitri has heard that where it meets the sea, the cliffs are two hundred meters tall. The land around them supports few trees, but for some windswept juniper. </p><p>No cover, someone whispers in his ear. He tries to pass off his flinch as a shiver in the whipping wind. </p><p>“Is it difficult for you?” Dedue asks. </p><p>Dimitri does not want to answer that question.</p><p>“I was happy to come,” Dimitri quickly fills in instead. </p><p>But his heart is still pounding in his chest and the battle ended several hours ago. No cover, he thinks again as they pass by a shelf of exposed rock, mottled with green moss. </p><p>It is such an ugly thought. It is such an ugly thing that he is still afraid of Duscur when he believes, no, he <em>knows</em> with all the conviction that his fracturing mind still possesses, that they were not the ones responsible for the Tragedy. </p><p>“Your Highness,” Dedue says gently. It hurts to hear. It hurts to hear Dedue attempting to comfort him here, in a place where he has lost so much more. </p><p>“These mountains are very beautiful,” Dimitri says before Dedue can continue, forcing a smile onto his lips. “I would love to return some day under better circumstances.” </p><p>Dedue is quiet for a moment. </p><p>“We should return in summer,” he finally says, “that is when the heather blooms.” </p><p>A stone dislodges as the soldiers tramp down the hill, just a pebble. Dimitri watches it tumble and bounce across the path in front of them. Even so, he jumps at the sound it makes and he feels something crack across the back of his hand as his fingers instinctively clench into a fist. </p><p>Dedue bends down to pick something up. Dimitri feels his face heating with shame. He has cracked one of the metal plates on his gauntlet. Dedue holds the piece up to examine it for a moment. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Dimitri says. </p><p>“The metal hasn’t been cooled properly,” Dedue replies, lining up the broken edge with the remainder of the plate. “If the smith lacks patience and quenches the steel too quickly, it weakens like this.” </p><p>Dimitri is fairly certain that Dedue is only trying to make him feel better. But he says nothing.</p><p>It is also the first time that Dedue, perhaps unconsciously, has reached out and taken his hand. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1176 </em>
</p><p>It was the smoke. While it stung his eyes and scorched his throat until it was painful to draw breath, it at least kept anyone from noticing his hiding spot. </p><p>Why had Glenn stopped moving? Why had he stopped moving? He had been crawling towards his sword and then he had stopped. Why had he stopped? </p><p>The grass around them begins to catch. Smoke pours up into the sky. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1186 </em>
</p><p>“This was once a temple,” Dedue says. </p><p>Dimitri glances at the ruin. Only a keen eye could spot that it had been a building. Just a bit of stone foundation is left and most of the ashes have been scattered or absorbed into the soil. Dimitri has seen many ruins recently, only these have been much more recent. He has only just gotten back from a tour of the Gaspard lands that had served as a frontline during much of the war. He is not used to looking for old wounds, only desperately working to patch up the ones which are still bleeding his kingdom dry. </p><p>“I understand,” Dimitri responds, pulling his horse to a stop. The knights behind him halt as well. The sound of armor and leather shifting only serves to remind him how many soldiers he has brought into this land, this land which is he ostensibly trying to hand back to its people. </p><p>“Something will be done,” he continues quickly. “I can ask the Lord Treasurer about money for restorations. And masons can be found, from Leicester perhaps, so that the locals will not feel threatened. Once we resolve the land claims by the Brennian family, then the repairs shouldn’t take more than two years and--” </p><p>“Dimitri,” Dedue interrupts. He still says the word aloud like it is a stranger’s name. “It cannot be restored. The god of this place has burned with the temple.” </p><p>“Oh,” Dimitri says quietly. He feels a wave of hopelessness rising up inside of him. It is all so insurmountable. The damage his people have done here is so absolute, so overwhelming. </p><p>“But in the spring,” Dedue continues, “I will find someone to say rites over the remains.” </p><p>“Of course,” Dimitri says. His horse paws at the path below them, eager to be moving again. Or perhaps that is Dimitri, tightening his seat without noticing. Wishing to be gone. Wishing to be on the way to the mining village that the Brennian family still intends to lay claim to, when the charter was granted by the Kleimans, and the Kleimans have now been stripped of their title, and… </p><p>“It is getting late,” Dedue says, looking up at the sky. “We ought to ride on before it is dusk.” </p><p>Dimitri stares at the ruined temple a moment longer. It must have burned very hot. Some of the stone has cracked just from the blaze. He wonders if the Faerghan soldiers had put it to the torch to kill those sheltering inside, or it had been empty. If it had been empty and they had only burned it for the satisfaction of watching the flames. </p><p>With a spur of his horse, they are moving again. Moving fast and riding far. He has so much left to do here. He has more than a lifetime of troubles to fix. </p><p>“If you ride like that, Your Majesty,” Dedue calls out, “you’ll throw a shoe on roads like this.”</p><p>Dimitri slows his pace. Dedue has used his title once again. Everything happens so slowly. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1188  </em>
</p><p>“I will only stay for a few months,” Dedue reminds him. </p><p>The mountain pass is very cold. The snows will begin soon enough and they will be nearly unusable until spring. Dimitri has stayed for as long as he could spare this time. He adjusts the collar of his riding cloak to keep out the chill. </p><p>“It is alright, Dedue,” he says stiffly. “I will be fine until the spring. You are needed here.” </p><p>“Messengers will still be able to cross on the wing,” Dedue adds. “I will write as often as I can.”</p><p>“Only if you wish to,” Dimitri says desperately. “Please, do not trouble yourself.” </p><p>“I will have time to spare,” Dedue says. “The clans will only occupy so much of my time.” </p><p>“And your village?” Dimitri asks. </p><p>“They have no need of me this winter. The reparations have been sufficient to buy grain,” Dedue says. </p><p>Dimitri watches the wind blow some of his hair out from its binding, a long white strand flying around his face. Another streak of white across Dedue’s skin. Dimitri has tried to count the scars before, but he always loses track. They stand out so clearly and each one makes Dimitri feel like he wants to scream. His own wounds have blended in far better. It is difficult to spot the burns on his hands anymore. </p><p>“What about the forge?” Dimitri asks. “I thought you intended to rebuild your father’s house.” </p><p>“Perhaps,” Dedue says without giving anything away. </p><p>“Dedue, you cannot just keep waiting and waiting,” Dimitri finally bursts out with. “You must take some time for yourself. You must! Let me handle the treaties for a while, please.” </p><p>“If you command it,” Dedue says flatly. “Your Majesty.” </p><p>Dimitri tilts his head back and fixes his eye on the clouds overhead. He is shivering. He does not want to leave. Except that he does.</p><p>He hates this. He hates this road. He hates this pass. He hates the curves where he cannot see ahead and he hates the steep slopes and the uneven path where the horses always stumble and the carts break axles. </p><p>“I do not command it,” Dimitri finally manages to say. “But I am… I am lacking a blade that will not fracture under my grip.” </p><p>“Dimitri?” Dedue asks, unsure what he means. </p><p>“There is…” Dimitri says, trying to make sure that Dedue understands, “no better smith in Fódlan. The steel must be flawlessly heated to avoid cracks.” </p><p>“I see,” Dedue says. </p><p>This time, though, Dimitri can see a faint smile on his lips. </p><p>“This is as far as I should go,” he says a few minutes later. </p><p>“I know,” Dimitri replies softly. </p><p>“I will be back by spring,” Dedue reaffirms. “Once the snows melt.” </p><p>The road ahead twists around a rocky outcropping. Low visibility. Just Dimitri and his knights and the road. </p><p>“I will look forward to it,” he says. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1189 </em>
</p><p>“This is one of the herbs you brew into tea, correct?” Dimitri says, bending down to examine the ground. </p><p>“That is right,” Dedue says, “you are improving.” </p><p>Dimitri smiles as he rubs the leaves between his fingers, taking in the sharp smell of them. </p><p>“I am a slow learner,” he says, “I have spent enough time on these paths, I ought to know more.” </p><p>So many of the flowers in Duscur are foriegn plants, brought over the mountains by Faerghan lords eager to sew their fields with familiar crops. It is rare and precious, Dimitri knows, to find the native herbs not choked out by the invaders. </p><p>“There was a letter from Felix over the winter,” Dedue admits, kneeling beside him and selecting a few of the best sprigs to pick. “He claims your council has complained that you spend so much of your time here. That you neglect the rest of your territories in favor of a land you have relinquished any claim to.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Dimitri says without much concern. Let the council complain. Let Felix complain to him about it and let Annette smooth things over. It was such a common pattern, it scarcely required worrying. </p><p>“Dimitri,” Dedue says. It passes from his lips without much thought now. “I would not be offended if you decided to spend time elsewhere. I know that Duscur is not the only place suffering right now.” </p><p>“You said once, I recall, that there was a waterfall in those hills,” Dimitri replies, standing back up and squinting in the sunlight. “Perhaps we might divert our party for a moment to see it.” </p><p>“You do not wish to make it to the camp by nightfall?” Dedue asks. He asks it very carefully. </p><p>“You said that your sister once brought you to swim in the pool beneath, correct?” Dimitri says with a smile. “And that you could see the bottom so clearly it was as though there was no water at all?” </p><p>Dedue’s arms are folded over his chest. Dimitri can see his fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. </p><p>Dimitri considers for a long moment before he reaches out and loosens Dedue’s grip, his own clumsy hands pulling the other man’s to his side. </p><p>“I did say that,” Dedue finally replies. He clears his throat. </p><p>“Then we must see it,” Dimitri says softly. “I’m tired of waiting.” </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1189 </em>
</p><p>On the way back from the waterfall, the road is dark. One of the carriages hits a rut in the path and part of the wheel rim cracks. The horses stop suddenly and </p><p>And--</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1176 </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t understand why they have stopped. There are voices outside. They sound angry. He can’t hear what they are saying but they sound angry. </p><p>“Father?” he says, but before he can finish his question the doors open and </p><p>And-- </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1189 </em>
</p><p>Dedue has entwined their fingers together. The weight and heat of his palm are so solid, even through Dimitri’s gloves. </p><p>They are alone in the carriage, but even so. Even so. </p><p>Dimitri does not pull his hand back. </p><p>“Wheels often break like this,” Dedue says, “if the smith has not heated the metal properly, the hammer will weaken the iron.” </p><p>Dimitri tightens his grip as much as he dares. </p><p>“They will fix it soon,” Dedue says quietly. “Very soon.” </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Roadside, Duscur, 1194  </em>
</p><p>“Remind me again, the wife of the village’s chieftain, she was--” </p><p>“My mother’s half-sister,” Dedue supplies. </p><p>“Of course,” Dimitri says, “which means she must be the one who taught you about adding some water to the ovens so that the bread will get a harder crust.” </p><p>“Yes,” Dedue says with a smile. “Your memory for these matters is very precise.” </p><p>“Well, it is useful to recall,” Dimitri replies. “The people of Duscur did not trust me half so well until I could recite their family recipes back to them.” </p><p>That draws a rare laugh from Dedue. </p><p>It is a warm afternoon. It smells of fresh hay in the fields by the roadside. It was not long ago, Dimitri thinks, that all of these lands had been empty but for the livestock of Faerghan lords. Now there are cottages popping up every day. </p><p>They are riding slowly, taking in the scenery around them. There is still much work to do, but it is coming along. </p><p>As they pass over a hill, Dimitri sees a meadow open up around them, filled with wildflowers of every color. He stops his horse for a moment, taking in the sight. The wind ripples the grass in shades of blue and purple and orange. </p><p>There is something lying at the side of the road, mostly overgrown with flowers. </p><p>Dimitri pauses and looks down, trying to determine what it is. </p><p>“Dimitri--” Dedue says. His voice is suddenly sharp. </p><p>Dimitri stares down at the object in the grass. It is a part of an old wheel, probably from a cart that must have broken down on the road. Dimitri glances at Dedue and sees fear in his eyes.  </p><p>And then he realizes. </p><p>He looks around at the meadow. The grass has regrown. The soil must be rich now to support such life. </p><p>He didn’t even recognize it. </p><p>They wait for a moment in silence. The wind keeps blowing. The horses snort a little as they bend down to nibble at the grass. </p><p>“We ought to keep going,” Dimitri finally says. “I want to reach the village in time to speak with the anchorites at the hermitage.” </p><p>“If we take the new bridge over the river, it should only take a few hours,” Dedue says. </p><p>“I love you, you know,” Dimitri says. </p><p>He’s waited a while to say it. That should mean that it is stronger, more certain, unable to fracture suddenly when he needs it most. </p><p>“Is it difficult?” Dedue asks. </p><p>They ride on and leave the meadow of flowers behind them. </p><p>“Not at all,” Dimitri answers. </p><p>
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